


Bat Out Of Hell

by LowerEastSide



Series: Always Crashing In The Same Car [2]
Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Canon - Manga, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Minor Injuries, no 'on screen' sex but Ryo thinks about it a lot, self-deprecation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:13:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29958033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LowerEastSide/pseuds/LowerEastSide
Summary: Something aboutspeedjust gets to him, an intrinsic part of his soul craving the wind in his hair. It helps him forget all the bad dreams, the whispers that are starting to slip into his daytimes.Or:  Ryo, on a stolen motorcycle, in his own head.
Relationships: Asuka Ryo | Satan/Fudo Akira
Series: Always Crashing In The Same Car [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2203356
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Bat Out Of Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to New Chevrolet In Flames. Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos on that one, they were very motivating! This is a series now! (It’s going toward the canon ending and also towards angst and an E rating, so if you really liked the softer ending of New Chevy, I won’t be offended if you stop reading there.) I don’t spell it out in the narrative, but the bike is a 1971 Honda CB350. Title from Meatloaf, the second best song about crashing a motorcycle. (#1 is “Leader Of The Pack.”) Thanks to Zaharya for looking this over.

“If you don’t hurry up,” Akira says, “I’m going to start without you.”

Ryo can hear the grin in his voice even over the phone. “I’m sure you don’t need my help.”

“Probably not.” The line crackles; Ryo really needs to get his own phone rather than relying on the payphone outside his shitty apartment. “But I know you like to… watch.”

“Akira!” Ryo blushes in spite of himself, then jumps at a sudden sharp noise. An old lady is peering in from outside, tapping on the glass, impatiently waiting to make a call. “I have to go. I’ll meet you there at sundown, alright? Don’t try anything in daylight.”

A large delivery truck speeds by, mercifully drowning out Akira’s next words to anyone but him. Ryo is pretty sure the old lady would have fainted.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Sundown is a while away, so Ryo decides a nap can’t hurt. 

He should have known better. Sleep-deprived, he manages to doze right through the alarm. There’s a reason he hasn’t been sleeping well — a reason beyond the fact that the world is possibly ending and he’s one of the only people who knows about it. It’s a nightmare he started having after the Sabbath. When the demons come crashing down around him, he doesn’t black out, not like in real life, when Akira had saved him. In the nightmares the floor just… opens up beneath him, and he falls through endless nothing. The drop brings a nauseating sense of déjà vu, and he doesn’t _stop_ falling until he wakes up covered in sweat, gasping, a voice in his head saying _you shouldn’t be here. You don’t belong here. You’re wrong._

He doesn’t think it’s survivor’s guilt; he hadn’t cared about the revelers at the party. Maybe he’s worried that Akira doesn’t need him? But he shakes that thought away, too. As much as Ryo likes to theorize about other people’s fears, hopes, and motivations, he isn’t very keen on psychoanalyzing himself. It’s best to simply ignore the creeping sense of dread, his increasingly loud, self-loathing doubts.

And he doesn’t have the time for that: the sun is already setting.

“Fuck!” Ryo flings himself out of bed, stopping only to grab two knives and a gun and slip on his coat, before taking the steps out of his apartment building two at a time. Waiting for the bus to take him down to the warehouse district isn’t an option, not with him being so late. He hates to work so close to home, but needs must, so he goes down the road in search of a car.

Since the demise of the Chevy, Ryo has only come across a series of plain, domestic vehicles. He leaves them scattered around the city when he’s finished, partly to draw away suspicion, but mostly because they are just so _boring._ It’s a shame, he thinks as he kicks the door on a rusty old sedan, that the Caprice had to be sacrificed when trash like this escapes. 

And then it catches his eye.

Across the street, in front of an apartment building, is a beautiful motorcycle. Someone has taken care of it, polishing the blue and white paint until it gleams. They aren’t going to be happy in the morning. Gently, Ryo eases it off the kickstand and walks it down the block — he’ll start it up there, away from the building where the owner might hear. It’s a fairly lightweight bike, standard size; he knows it won’t reach the speed of some other higher-powered ones, but it should be quick and maneuverable. He finds the ignition wiring, pulls the cap and crosses the wires into the right sockets, and hears a _click._ One push of the kickstart later and he’s off.

Vehicles have no loyalty, and the bike runs smoothly, an eager mount rumbling beneath him. He’s only been on a motorcycle a time or two, so he starts out slow to get his bearings, but he can't resist the lure of the throttle and as soon as he’s out of the denser part of the neighborhood he takes a chance and opens it up. He wobbles, just a bit, then finds his balance as the ground becomes a blur beneath him. It feels like flying, and Ryo resists the urge to whoop like a child jumping off a swing. Something about _speed_ just gets to him, an intrinsic part of his soul craving the wind in his hair. It helps him get out of his head, forget all the bad dreams, the whispers that are starting to slip into his daytimes. 

_But you’ve_ never _been right in the head, have you?_

No. It’s a beautiful evening, Akira is waiting for him, and he's found a perfect ride. He’s going to enjoy every second of this. It’s ill advised, but for just a moment he closes his eyes and feels the world rushing past him. It’s as if he’s escaped his own being, become someone else. 

The sun finally sinks completely below the horizon, and he flicks on the brights, headlamps illuminating his path. It will take him about 30 minutes to get down to the warehouse district where Akira has sniffed out a demon. It’s been trying to hide out there all alone, so it should be an easy fight, but Ryo likes to come along just in case. After Sirene, he can’t shake the image of Akira bleeding out and torn apart. What if he’d died there, all alone? Ryo hadn’t even told him yet —

Well. Ryo _still_ hasn’t told him, strictly speaking, although actions probably speak louder than words in this case.

The memory of their first kiss still burns brightly as the moment it happened, and Ryo has to resist the urge to touch a finger to his lips, the phantom press of Akira’s mouth a live-wire along his nerves. _Both hands on the bars, Asuka,_ he scolds himself, still learning how the bike handles. It wouldn’t do to skid out this early in the trip. He’d like to keep the motorcycle for a while, impractical as it with no trunk for guns and no protection against inclement weather. There’s one feature that overrides any downsides to being on two wheels instead of four. He can picture it now: riding back tonight, Akira’s arms wrapped around his waist and face pressed into his neck, a moment of perfect intimacy. And when they get home... well. He hopes Akira isn’t too tired to have a little bit of fun. 

It’s surprising just how _fun_ their new relationship is. Before, when Ryo had imagined being with Akira — late at night when insomnia drove him beyond rationality, and he couldn’t help but fantasize — he’d always assumed it would be a painful, one-sided thing. Maybe Akira would give in to physical intimacy, his demon instincts accepting anything sexual. But Ryo had never hoped for Akira’s _romantic_ affections. He’d expected rejection or pity. How wrong he’d been. From that first kiss, Akira has returned Ryo’s enthusiasm in spades, his bright smile and eager hands doing more to assuage Ryo’s nervousness than any florid declarations of love.

There _have_ been words, though. Filthy things whispered between sheets, hissed in Ryo’s ear. He isn’t sure how much of this is Akira and how much is the demon driving him on, but Ryo feels the same, so it’s likely just young human hormones on both their parts. The ability to plainly state his desires without blushing, though, that’s the new Akira, the one whose inhibitions have vanished. 

“I’m going to wreck you later,” Akira had promised on the other end of the payphone earlier tonight, and Ryo intends on holding him to that. 

Maybe… maybe tonight he’ll ask Akira to fuck him.

A shiver runs down Ryo’s spine at the thought of it. They haven’t done _that_ yet, it’s only been a month after all, but hands have been absolutely _everywhere._ He knows that Akira wants it, from the way he grinds himself against Ryo’s body, a growl rising up in his throat. Sometimes he sounds like a demon without meaning to, and it gets Ryo hot. Honestly _everything_ Akira does gets him going. Ryo feels permanently ablaze, as if the fire that gutted the Chevy has crept into his heart.

The bike purrs between his thighs, and he has to take a deep breath to calm himself. Time enough for that later.

The road is winding now down out of the hills. Ryo leans into a curve and his long coat flares out, catching the wind and causing a drag. On the next straightaway he scoots up on the seat and tucks it underneath his ass. If he’s going to keep the bike — or steal another, depending on how tonight goes — he might have to think about getting a different jacket. Something leather. Maybe Akira would think he was sexy in leather. Maybe he would look good enough to stand beside his fit, confident boyfriend. Ryo knows he looks like a delinquent, but that’s mostly the trenchcoat and the whiff of marijuana, not to mention the firearms. Without his trappings he’s just a nobody, not worth a second glance; with them he’s someone to be avoided. In either case he’s that weird kid that no one talks to. Even if he isn’t a kid anymore — his eighteenth birthday passed without fanfare, or any attempt at a real driver’s license — he still feels woefully unprepared for whatever the world holds beyond demon hunting. It’s just his luck that his life was interrupted.

_Of course all this shit would happen to you. You’re a fuck-up. You think he’d bother with you if you hadn’t pulled him into this?_

Ryo clenches his fists on the handlebars, pushes the throttle some more, ignores the tachometer as it inches toward the red. He tries to think of nice things Akira has said. _How are you so soft everywhere?_ as he pets Ryo with those hands that could so easily tear him apart. _Aren’t you hot in that jacket? Take it off._ A teasing grin with a hint of fang as he slides the coat off Ryo’s shoulders in the doorway of his apartment. The memories are embarrassingly sexual, but that’s the most immediate thing, something potent he can focus on.

Although he’s eager to see Akira (and to reassure himself that nothing terrible has happened), Ryo can’t help but feel a bit disappointed as he nears the warehouse district. Inability to calm his mind aside, it’s been a lovely ride. The stars are peeking out now above him, the moon still hidden behind a cloud. Maybe when the demon is defeated they can walk down to the water and look out over the ocean at night — if it’s even still alive, he _is_ late. A quick fight is best, but Ryo can’t deny he does enjoy watching Akira fight, heart in his throat, worry and wonder all mixed together. He finds it enthralling.

_Of course you do. You’re a monster, and you’ve made him one, too._

He bites down on his bottom lip nearly to the point of breaking skin. No matter what terrible things his mind throws at himself, he refuses to think about Akira like that. Like he’s been _corrupted._ Demon or not, the good things about Akira still shine through. Ryo tries very hard to encourage those things, to be a human point of focus, even while the demonic parts of him cause a curling sense of arousal at the base of Ryo’s spine, spreading out like Akira’s wingspan.

_You’re sick._

He tastes blood.

There’s a sudden rushing sound off to his right, and Ryo turns his head to see if a car is overtaking him, catching a gust of wind in the face. The bike tilts precariously; he leans the opposite direction and gets it under control, only to look up and see a demon descending beside him. It beats its wings, sending more treacherous currents of air in his direction. Cursing, Ryo pumps the brakes and risks riding one handed to fumble in his coat for the gun. Is it even feasible to try firing while he’s still moving? Is he that good of a shot? Where did the fucker even come from?

The demon appears as a huge, morbid goose, fat-bodied and long necked, tongue lolling out of its beak as it suddenly addresses him. “You smell like him,” it hisses. “That thing that isn’t Amon.” 

_Shit!_ This must be the demon Akira was fighting. Either it defeated him — unlikely, it’s half the size of other creatures he’s seen Devilman tear into shreds — or it fled the fight and happened to see Ryo as it escaped. He’s a more tempting target, human and unprotected out on the road. Not unarmed though, and he smirks as he finally manages to draw the gun and take a shot. He misses, but at least causes the demon to swerve away for a moment. Ryo is losing speed from taking his hand off the throttle, so he sticks the gun between his legs and accelerates away, towards the warehouse where Akira must still be.

The demon sees exactly where he’s headed and shrieks, coming back down for a sideswipe. It has just as much trouble hitting a moving target, and its claws pass inches from Ryo’s head. After several more attempts, it gives up in frustration, and flies ahead at a greater speed than the bike can manage, turning sharply and hovering midair before heading back in his direction. It’s trying to force a head on collision, and Ryo knows which of them will come out worse in that match-up. He needs to even the odds.

There’s only a second to make a decision, and Ryo hopes this works as well as he’s seen in the movies. 

As the demon rushes forward, Ryo pulls the left handlebar back abruptly and lets his body shift left as well. The bike falls to its side and slides down the road, sparks flying from where the muffler scrapes along the asphalt. His pants tear open from knee to hip, and he grits his teeth against the pain. The demon passes overhead, shocked by the sudden descent of its target, its taloned feet whizzing past his face.

Ryo doesn’t notice. As he careens down the road, barely holding on to the bike, the sensation of falling and burning drags him back into a waking nightmare. The memory of tumbling through the sky. The feeling that someone has flayed the skin from his back. He hits the ground like a shockwave — no, that’s the bike, hitting a light pole and screeching to a stop. Dazed, Ryo manages to stand up, only to hear the demon howl as it comes back for him. Miraculously, he’s kept hold of the shotgun. He should be steadier on two feet, but his aim is just as bad as it was on the bike, and the creature gets closer. At last — and it is the last, the chamber now empty — he lands one clean shot at the base of the demon’s wing, and it goes down heavily, collapsing in a heap not 20 meters away.

Ryo’s shaking too badly to reload, and his leg is bleeding heavily now. He falls over in a wave of dizziness, scraping his hands on the pavement. The red blood that pools in his palms looks strange, and he holds them out in front of his face, his fingers blurring and shifting. His body doesn’t feel _real,_ like he’s pulled on someone else’s skin. Desperately, he blinks stinging tears out of his eyes and tries to focus. Where was he going? Akira. He has to get to Akira. His head is killing him, two points of pain at his temples. He has to — 

_Why bother? He doesn’t love you. No one could love you. You don’t belong anywhere._

He shakes his head furiously, groping in his pocket for a knife. What had Akira said two nights ago when Ryo saw him last? _How can I get you to make that noise again?_ No, not that. What he said in the afterglow. 

_How did I miss this for so long?_

That memory snaps Ryo back. He doesn’t want to make Akira _miss_ him ever again. He doesn’t want to die here. 

The demon crawls toward him, dragging the wounded wing, growling in fury. Its long neck darts out, but Ryo jabs at its face with the knife and its jaws snap around nothing. They swipe fruitlessly at each other in this way several times. The edges of Ryo’s vision starts to go white, and he thinks he must have hit his head when he laid the motorcycle down. This is bad, this is _really_ bad — 

Sensing an opening, the demon goes low, bites his foot and pulls, flipping Ryo onto his back. Triumphantly, it rears back above him, poised for the killing blow. Ryo winces, braced for impact. It was inevitable he’d end up like this. He is a failure, after all.

The demon grins — as much as it can with a beak — then pulls back in confusion. “What?” it hisses, eyes narrowed. “What are you?”

 _A fuck-up,_ Ryo thinks, unable to form words.

The demon’s beady eyes narrow. “No matter.” It licks its non-existent lips and darts forward. 

_Akira, I’m sorry, I’m sor-_

  
  


* * *

  
  


Something is shaking him. If this is Hell, it smells like petrol and feels like a tilt-a-whirl. Groaning, Ryo opens his eyes and sees only the pavement, before a pair of hands turns him over. Someone is calling his name. 

It’s Akira. 

He’s partially transformed, black streaks running down his face and wings spread out. It’s a familiar sight to Ryo. What’s unfamiliar is the absolute look of despair on Akira’s face. 

“What happened?” He’s frantically patting Ryo down, making sure he isn’t missing any parts or something, Ryo supposes. With a hiss of pain, he sits up, or attempts to. 

“I’m fine,” he says, a patent untruth that both of them can see. 

“You aren’t _fine,_ you just crashed a fucking motorcycle!”

“It was kind of on purpose.”

“On pur-- what?”

“The demon?” Akira shakes his head, and Ryo looks around in confusion. “Where did it go?” 

“No idea. Was it the same one I was fighting?”

“Medium sized, looked like an overzealous goose?”

Akira growls, low in his throat. “That asshole! It took one look at me and turned tail. Why’d it come after you?”

“You could say we ran into each other.” 

“Well, it’s gone now. Must have heard me coming.”

“Must have.” Ryo had thought he was dead for sure. The demon had been so close, why hadn’t it finished him off? It said something at the end but Ryo can’t recall. A sudden sting of pain stops him from contemplating further.

“Ouch!” Akira is pressing ineffectually at Ryo’s torn up leg, trying to stop the oozing blood. “Cut it out. I’ve got a tissue in my coat somewhere, hold on.”

“You don’t need a tissue, you need stitches.”

“No,” Ryo says firmly. “No hospitals. And it’s a scrape, not a cut. I just need to clean it.”

Akira looks him up and down skeptically, and gestures at the blood slowly dripping down his temple. “Of course you didn't bother with a helmet,” he chides. 

“The bike didn't come with one,” Ryo protests. “Anyway,” he says more quietly, “I wanted to feel the wind.”

Akira laughs, a bit wetly, and Ryo notices a few tears in his eyes. “Bet you looked sexy,” he jokes, trying to play off his concern. 

Ryo smacks him halfheartedly, then leans heavily against him, too tired to move. “Thank you for coming.”

Sighing, Akira presses a soft, hesitant kiss against the crown of Ryo’s head. Their affection usually isn’t quite so gentle; Ryo’s chest feels tight. “I’ll always come for you,” Akira says, voice strained. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

That’s a nice sentiment, but unrealistic. “You’d keep going. Keep fighting. The demons aren’t going to stop just because something happens to me. You still have to protect the world.”

“Ryo.” Akira pulls back and regards him seriously, one hand coming up to wipe a trickle of blood off his face; it smears across his cheekbone, making him look even worse. “You’re the best thing in this world.” 

And who needs _I love you_ when Akira says things like that?

Blushing, Ryo turns away. “H- help me stand up,” he stammers, unprepared for such kindness after the fucked-up night he’s had. Akira rises and offers a hand; Ryo can’t really support himself on his left leg but he manages to hobble over to the bike. It’s slowly leaking oil and the paint job is wrecked, but it’s not a total loss.

“Think you can move it upright for me?” Ryo asks, and Akira easily lifts the bike with one hand. “Lemme see if it will start.” No luck. He must have jarred something in the engine. It’s repairable, but Ryo has no way to get it to a shop, even if he had the ownership papers. It will have to stay where it is. With a fond pat on the tank, Ryo silently thanks the motorcycle for the mostly pleasant ride before the demon appeared. 

“What street are we on?” he asks, looking around for a sign. “I’m gonna leave a note where I found it, let them know it’s here.”

“You don’t want to keep it?” Akira says, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t say I never did anything nice.”

Now that Ryo is standing, he can see a faint shape on the pavement, little more than a charred outline, shining in places where the oil has spilled. It’s the same size and vague shape of the demon that had conveniently disappeared. Something is wrong here, but Ryo can’t figure out what.

_You’re a monster._

Shuddering, Ryo turns away, making no mention of the strange shadow. “We should probably get out of here.”

“Come on,” Akira offers eagerly. “I’ll fly us back. It’s warm out, and it’s cloudy enough that no one will see.”

Ryo acquiesces, allowing Akira to pick him up. It’s not the first time they’ve had to do this, and he secretly enjoys it quite a bit. Akira gathers Ryo in his arms and spreads his wings for takeoff; thankfully, he’s wearing pants, having obviously remembered Ryo’s advice about a spare set when fighting alone. 

Exhausted, Ryo tucks his face into Akira’s neck and closes his eyes. It’s reassuring, the thought that no matter how badly Ryo fucks up, Akira will always come for him. It might not be true in the end, but for now Ryo will cling to that belief. Maybe this will be enough to keep his own demons at bay.

Maybe. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> The whole time I was writing this, I was picturing that demon as something goose-like and I _knew_ it was because I’d seen that somewhere, but I didn’t remember until right before posting. It’s from Rat Queens. Credit where credit is due. 
> 
> This one was quite self-indulgent, since I also ride a 70’s Honda and pretend that I am cool. No demon boyfriend, though. ~~Yet.~~ I’ve never crashed it (knock on wood), but I did wreck a little Metropolitan once, and even at only 20 mph it was Not Good. Always wear a helmet! And always use a good lock - the hotwiring description is vague but accurate.)
> 
> The next installment is gonna get sexy but it’s also gonna get a little weird. Anyone here ever read J.G. Ballard?
> 
> (Where do you all hang out, anyway? I know the fanart is on Twitter. Is there a Devilman Discord or something? 18+ if you please. I'm at [lower-east-side](https://lower-east-side.tumblr.com) if you do the Tumblr.


End file.
